


Chains

by Aroihkin



Series: Veilfire Bones [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 11:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3133196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aroihkin/pseuds/Aroihkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrior f!Lavellan being a guard dog in Solas' general direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chains

**Author's Note:**

> **Original prompt:** [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47909749#t47909749).
> 
> F!Lavellan protects Solas  
> (Anonymous)  
> 2014-12-30 02:17 pm (UTC)  
> Sweet, wonderful anons, I have a burning and desperate need for Solavellan fic in which F!Lavellan is the one who keeps saving his ass from demons, or dragons, or bandits, or bears, or - well, you get the picture.  
> The details are entirely up to you! Mostly I just want BAMF Lavellan routinely keeping her hobo boyfriend from meeting an untimely demise.  
> Bonus points for Knight Enchanter!Lavellan, because come on saving Fen'Harel by rushing at things with your ancient elven lightsaber is the stuff dreams are made of (at least my dreams).  
> Whether there is smut or not is also entirely up to A!A, but if things do go the sexy route my squicks are non/dub-con, anal, and bathroom stuff. Also, I'd much prefer Lavellan being the one who tops/doms, if that's a thing!

When Lavellan told him once, early in their... association, that she would protect him, Solas had assumed she meant against the threat they had been speaking of at the  _time_ ; that of what the Inquisition may choose to do with an elven apostate, once he was no longer of immediate use to them. It had been... endearing; she who had so recently been in chains, stating that she would somehow guard him from a similar or worse fate against people with whom she, at the time, had little enough true influence.  
  
But sometimes, Solas wondered if that was all she'd meant, indeed. Time and time again, the moment an enemy even looked his way, she was there between them... or the enemy was snagged in heavy, clanking chains and ripped straight through the air to her feet. Sometimes, she simply charged them with her shield up, bowling them over with a teeth-jarring impact, or she shouted, the sound harsh and guttural and full of force, to get their attention back onto her. Whatever method she chose at that particular instant, it was almost always effective, and Solas rarely had to contend with much attention from the enemy.  
  
Early on in their ventures out into the Hinterlands, when she was not yet used to traveling with a mage and it showed, he found himself occasionally the target of one of those fierce charges. But always, she stopped just short of hitting him, boots clawing up dust and mud or gravel and moss with the force of her halt. The barrier he instinctively threw over himself at the sound of her shout always slowly ticked down, never touched by her weaponry. Her expression was always briefly feral, as it usually was in combat -- but it was forever different, to see it directed at himself -- before it became a flinch and then a scowl with all its sharp jagged edges pointed inward, and the shield lowered, her posture straightening.  
  
She'd grunt an apology, and then turn to lead the way back off again, each time. He wasn't angry, of course; her combat instincts were as sharp as a razor, and the shape of a mage with a staff facing her took her off guard, sometimes, especially when he was in a blind spot. He was only glad she always seemed to realize who he was in time to stop; she wouldn't kill him with impact, and he was far hardier than he appeared... but he could only imagine how deeply those inward-turned edges of her scowl would cut her if she ever  _touched_  him. Solas could all but smell the blood they drew, at it was.  
  
No one and nothing was as hard on Lavellan as Lavellan herself was. Perhaps that was why she didn't seem to fear the chains the Inquisition had once kept her in... she was already wrapped up in her own.

It was far later in their journey, past the destruction of Haven, when he heard a rumor and watched her carefully tuck something found on a dead foe into her pack. So, it was true, then; she was considering learning the ways of the templar... and that confused him enough for him to bring it up to her, the next time they spoke in private.  
  
"Templars," Lavellan's voice was a ruined mess, and had been since before they'd met; she sounded like she gargled with glass every morning. It didn't bother him, like she kept expecting it to... and so little by little, he'd gotten her to speak more and more. "A lot of them got corrupted by power. Didn't know or care what they were for."  
  
Solas nodded, and waited patiently, his hands clasped lightly together behind himself.  
  
"They're supposed to protect," as usual, Lavellan's choppiness started to smooth out as she grew confident enough to string more words together in a row. "Not just everyone from the mages but... the mages from everyone, too. That's what I want."  
  
"You want to protect everyone, mages and otherwise, from everything," Solas mused aloud, unclasping his hands to dare to put a finger under her chin, to try to tilt her scarred face up. "A noble goal, but an impossible one."  
  
"Yeah," she agreed roughly, though she let her head be tilted up, dark eyes narrowing with determination, "but I can protect  _you_."  
  
"You already do. Do not chain yourself to lyrium," Solas implored, "not for  _my_  sake, ma vhenan."  
  
Lavellan was silent for a long moment, searching his face. Finally, she nodded and turned away, sharp on her heel like a soldier, and strode out of his office. Solas was used to her mannerisms by now, and knew it wasn't out of anger. Those sharp edges she kept pointing inward would keep drawing blood, keep slicing deeper and deeper into her, but at least they wouldn't be sharpened further by lyrium. He hoped.


End file.
